downed three more drinks. They went back into the room and got undressed.
Sandy fluffed a pillow and flopped down on her bed. LaMonica climbed onto the other bed and flicked off the light on the nightstand. There was only moonlight in the room. It was too warm for covers.
'You wanted me in the same room with you so I couldn't back out at the last minute,' Sandy said. Her speech was slightly slurred from the drinks. 'You're a great one for details. You like to have everything just right. Just the way you want it…even in sex.'
A gust of wind. The curtains reached into the room like ghost's hands. A sound in the distance might have been a siren. They stirred for a while. Nothing was said.
'I'll do it if you want me to,' Sandy said flatly. 'I can't sleep. '
'I'd like that,' LaMonica said.
'Only if we can start my way,' she said. 'There's a jar in my purse.
LaMonica reached into the purse on the nightstand. He removed a jar of surgical jelly.
Sandy rolled over and adjusted a pillow under her stomach. 'When I say stop, I mean stop.'
Sitting on the balcony with the morning sun warming his back, Paul LaMonica felt encouraged. The plan had progressed. He knew Omar T. Lockhart had not waddled all the way from Texas to Tijuana lust to shoot the shit.
For over an hour the topic of discussion had been money. There had been first and second offers, and the hotel room was filled with fiery talk about them. Sandy Hartzbecker, wearing a jumpsuit, paced around the room puffing on brown cigarettes, making demands. For emphasis, now and then she would aim a finger at Lockhart as if it were a gun.
Lockhart looked perfectly uncomfortable sitting at a table. He clicked furiously on a ballpoint pen.
'A hundred thousand dollars is completely out of the question,' Lockhart said, bobbing his puffy head in a bow of confidence. 'We'd just as soon take our chances and let the damn checks get distributed and passed. Sure, we'll sustain some loss, but the police will catch the forgers eventually.' He leaned back in the rattan chair.
Sandy was perched on the edge of the bed facing the balcony. She stabbed a finger in the direction of the fat man's face. 'Then you can go right ahead and do just that!' she said. 'Because if you think I'm going to settle for one dime less, you're crazy. I came to you people because I wanted to do the right thing…and because of what those Mafia bastards did to my Freddie.' Her voice was filled with emotion. She sniffled. Tear action. 'But I swear to God I'll sell the package to them unless I get enough money to make a new life for myself. They killed Freddie and they'll kill me if they don't get the checks. I'm going to need a new identity, a new life. These things cost money.' She pulled a tissue from a box and wiped her nose.
Lockhart leaned back in the chair. His neck disappeared in the burden of flesh under his chin. 'I hope you realize that simple possession of those counterfeit checks is a felony violation of law,' he said smugly.
'Oh, so now you want to
'There's no need to raise your voice,' said Lockhart without any show of emotion. 'I receive my instructions from a board of directors. There are certain ground rules that I — '
'Then go back and tell your board of directors to get
'I am prepared to make a final substantial offer,' Lockhart said, 'if you would care to listen.'
Sandy's hands were on her hips. 'Then make it,' she said.
Lockhart blinked rapidly before he spoke. 'Twenty five thousand dollars for full recovery.'
Sandy's hands flew to her face. Sobs. She ran out of the room.
LaMonica shook his head in mock despair. 'I'll get her,' he said on his way out of the room.
Sandy was pacing back and forth in front of the elevators.
LaMonica put his arm around her shoulder just in case anyone was watching. They strolled slowly along the corridor.
'What the hell do I do now?' she whispered.
LaMonica looked up and down the hall. 'Counter offer with fifty thousand and don't come off it,' he said. 'Give him three days to make up his mind.'
LaMonica led her back into the room. She sat down on the bed again. Lockhart stood on the balcony. His face was damp, oily.
'Those people will put a contract out on me if they don't get the checks,' Sandy said, wiping a tear. 'They'll come after me. That means I won't be able to work at a regular job or go anywhere near my friends or family. I'm probably stupid for not giving them the checks and having it over and done with…but I hate them. My Freddie would turn over in his grave.' Her hands wiped tears from her eyes. 'I need at least fifty thousand. I need it because I have four kids. I can't work. We'll have to move.' Her eyes sought the ceiling, 'I wish to God I had never seen the damn checks.'
Lockhart stood up. He hoisted his trousers over the mound that was his belly. 'We're not able to pay any more than I have offered. I'm sorry,' he said.
'That's final,' Sandy said. 'If that's the way you people feel about me, then the hell with it! Day after tomorrow I'm turning the checks over to the Italians. It's worth a hundred grand to avoid the death sentence!' She cupped her face in her hands and sobbed.
Omar Lockhart waddled to the door and opened it wide. 'I'm sorry,' he said. He walked out, closing the door gently behind him.
Sandy waved an extended middle finger at the door. LaMonica grabbed her arm and swung her to him. His hand closed over her mouth. His lips were at her ear. 'Don't say a word,' he whispered. She stared at LaMonica with a look of fear as he released her arm and picked up the chair Lockhart had been sitting in. LaMonica turned it over and examined it closely, then set it down without making a sound. Dropping to his knees, he searched under the table next to it. He motioned to her and she joined him under the table. He pointed to a black object the size of a dime. It was fastened under the rim of the table with a gumlike substance.
They crawled out from underneath the table and stood up. LaMonica took a pen and pad out of his pocket and wrote, 'Cry for a while, then tell me your mind is made up about the fifty thousand. Make up a story about how much debt you're in after Freddie's death, and so on.' He showed her the note. The sobs began.
They did not check out of the room for over an hour.
Chapter 17
The stocky bald man waiting in the Treasury Field Office reception area wore an expensive looking blue suit. There were grease spots on his silk necktie. Carr introduced himself, and the man handed him a business card. It read:
OMAR T. LOCKHART
DIRECTOR OF SECURITY
TRAVELERS CHEX, INCORPORATED
HOUSTON, TEXAS
They shook hands. 'The secretary checked a name for me in your files…Freddie Roth,' Lockhart said in a panhandle drawl. 'She said you handled the case.'
Carr nodded. 'Roth is dead,' he said. 'Murdered over a year ago.'
'That's a ten four,' Lockhart said. 'And how was he killed, if I may ask?'
'Head blown off,' Carr said. 'Underworld dispute over some counterfeit bonds he had printed. Why are you interested in old Freddie?'
'It's a confidential matter,' said Lockhart. 'Can you tell me anything about Freddie's young girl friend?'
Carr shrugged. 'Have no idea. I know he used to live with a gal in El Monte.'
'Did Roth ever print any counterfeit checks?' Lockhart asked. The look on his face was extremely
